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HIS CITY GIRL 



Ward Macauley 




ifi?*'* 




Successf 




A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOIiKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthuk 
Lewis Tubbs. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother v.'ants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. 

HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubbs. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields, Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. 

THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 
England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For Seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For five males and four 
females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. 

A WHITE MOHMTAIH BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girL 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



HIS CITY GIRL 



A Comedy in One Act 



By 

WARD MACAULEY 

Author of "Back to the Country Store,'* **Gradu» 
ation Day at Woodhill School,* etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1921 






Copyright 192 i by The Penn Publishing Company 



©CI.D 57133 



His City Giil 



MAR 17 192! 



*\kS \ 



His City Girl 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Mary Thorpe. The cashier of the store 

John Plummer The head clerk 

Joshua Thorpe Who owns the store 

Alice Winthrop Back from the city 

Mrs. Packard A customer 

Mrs. Ransom Another customer 

Mr. Potter Who has good eyes 

Mr. Barham ..A customer 

Georgie Baker. . .A victim of suggestive salesmanship 



COSTUMES AND GENERAL DIRECTIONS 

" His City Girl " is very easily performed and sure 
to be very effective if proper attention is given to the 
choosing of the cast and to the arrangement of the prop- 
erties in the grocery store. It is easy to borrow all the 
necessary material, and the more real the store is made 
to appear, the more effective the play will be. Comedy 
in placards, etc., should be avoided. 

Particular care should be used in selecting those who 
are to play the various parts. Mary Thorpe is a sweet, 
unassuming girl of twenty-one or two ; John Plummer 
an unaffected manly fellow two or three years older. 
Joshua Thorpe is around fifty, with a crafty expression 
and somewhat whiny voice. He pays little attention to 
personal appearance. Alice Winthrop is a stunning 
girl of twenty-four, attired in fashionable clothes, and 
with an air of realizing that she is distinctly in the 

3 



4 



SCENE PLOT 



swim. The part should not be overplayed or bur- 
lesqued, however. Mr. Barham and Mr. Potter are 
rather poorly dressed, middle-aged men. Mrs. Ran- 
som and Mrs. Packard are plainly but neatly dressed. 

The effort should be made to make all the business as 
lifelike as possible, and particularly to avoid haste in 
the various transactions. 

Proper attention to these details will insure a smooth 
and successful performance. 



SCENE PLOT 



^>oo/^ ro 




His City Girl 



SCENE. — Joshua Thorpe's General Store in Oakville. 
Interior. Morning of a June day. The curtain dis- 
covers John and Mary. Mr. Barham, with several 
packages, is leaving at the store door, c.) 

John. Well, I'm glad he's gone. It seemed to me 
that the customers would never stop coming. 

Mary. That would please Uncle Joshua. 

John. You're right, Mary. A dime looks pretty 
big to him. 

Mary. John ! 

John. Did you ever notice how many interruptions 
you have when you want to do something special ? 

Mary {laughing) . Have I ? Just as soon as I start 
making up a balance, doesn't somebody buy a cake of 
yeast and want change for a ten-dollar bill? But, 
John, what was it that you wanted to do special ? 

John. I wanted to see you alone. 

Mary. Alone ? 

John. Yes, I want to say good-bye to you. You 
know you and I have been just like brother and sister 
working together. We haven't had a quarrel yet. 

Mary {laughing). Hardly like brother and sister, 
John. 

John. Just like a brother and sister ought to be. 
Anyway, it is going to be hard for us to break it all off. 
We've been associated so closely and have grown to 
think a lot of each other. I wish I didn't have to leave 
you here in just this way. 

Mary. John, you mustn't speak like that. 



6 HIS CITY GIRL 

John {doggedly). Well, I don't. It isn't going to 

be pleasant for you. Your uncle 

Mary. I can manage him. 

{Enter Mr. Potter, c.) 

Mr. Potter. How are strawberries to-day, John ? 

John. Pretty good to-day, Mr. Potter; see how big 
and juicy they are? 

Potter. Huh ! Don't go showing me the top of 
the box. I'm on to your tricks. You grocers are all 
alike. I've traded with a lot of 'em, and I can't see 
much difference. 

John. You can see for yourself, Mr. Potter. 

Potter. You're right. I don't use specs yet a 
while. I'm going to see for myself, you can bet your 
sweet life. 

{He digs down to the bottom of the box.) 

John {with confidence) . Seeing is believing. 

FoTTER {triumphantly). Just as I thought. Here's 
one down near the bottom that ain't ripe. 

John {looking at it). It is a little green. I hadn't 
noticed. 

Potter. You notice it now, don't you, young man ? 
You up and take one out of that other box and give it 
to me. 

John. I don't know whether I should. 

Potter. You had better. It's obtaining money un-^ 
der false pretenses. 

John. All right. 

{He takes a strawberry from another box.) 

Potter. I get what I pay for, young man. You 
grocers are all alike, every one of you, just like two 
peas out o' the same pod. But you can't flimflam me. 
It ain't the one berry Fm thinking about. It's the prin- 
ciple o' the thing. I wasn't born yesterday nor the day 
before. 

John. I'm sure I want you to get your money's 



HIS CITY GIRL 7 

worth, Mr. Potter. Let me say good-bye. You know 
I'm leaving to-morrow. 

Potter. I heard something on it. Where you cal- 
culating on going ? 

John. Over to Westville. I just fell into luck 
somehow or other. Mr. Jenkins took a fancy to me 
and he's asked me to be his head clerk, and if I make 
good I'm to get a small interest in the business. 

Potter. Let me give you a little advice before you 
go. Don't take anything for granted. Keep your two 
eyes open and your mouth shut most of the time. Read 
all the fine print in any contract you sign. Don't lend 
money without ample security. Keep your feet on the 
ground. Get a receipt every time you pay out any 
cash. Watch the string on the packages. Give the 
customer what he's entitled to and no more. He's en- 
titled to what he can make you give him. Remember 
what I tell you and you'll get along and have a big bank 
account some day. 

John. But, Mr. Potter, will that make friends? 

Potter, A bank account's a friend that never goes 
back on you. I hope your customers aren't too shrewd. 

John. Too shrewd? 

Potter. Yes, I don't believe you folks here ever 
made any money off me. I get what I pay for. 
Where you make your money is off the happy-go-lucky 
people. Size 'em up and you can tell whether it's safe 
to give 'em the short end. 

John. Why, Mr. Potter, I expect to be honest with 
everybody. 

Potter. To be sure, to be sure. But still you've 
got to give some folks a little more than you give 
others. Here, wrap up these berries for me. Put on 
an extra sheet of paper, John, I may need it some time. 
(While John is wrapping up the berries Mr. Potter 
picks out one or two luscious berries from other boxes 
and eats them.) Well, good-bye, young man. Do as I 
tell you and you won't have to come back home again. 

John. Thank you, Mr. Potter, and good-bye. 
(Mr. Potter exits, exultantly, c.) Well, he's gone. 



8 HIS CITY GIRL 

I wonder who will be the next. Tell me, Mary, arc 
you going to miss me much ? 
Mary. You know I shall, John. 

{Enter Mrs. Packard, c.) 

John {in disgust). Watch the store, Mary, while I 
fun over and get my ticket. 

Mary. Surely, John. (John exits rapidly, c.) 
You know, Mrs. Packard, John is to leave on the six 
o'clock train in the morning and he wants to get every- 
thing ready to-day. 

Mrs. Packard. John is a good boy, Mary. 

Mary. I should say he is a good boy, Mrs. Pack- 
ard, as honest and as genuine as you will find any- 
where. 

Mrs. Packard. He ought to be taking you up to 
Westville with him. 

Mary. Me? 

Mrs. Packard. Yes, you. If two persons were 
ever meant for each other, it is you and John Plummer. 

Mary. Nonsense, Mrs. Packard. He just now said 
that we were just like brother and sister. Don't you 
know that John is practically engaged to Alice Win- 
throp ? Ever since they were children it has been un- 
derstood that they would be married some day. 

Mrs. Packard. Mebbe, but not necessarily to each 
other. 

Mary. Why, John has even shown me some of 
Alice's letters. That doesn't look as though he had 
any interest in me — ^not that way. 

Mrs. Packard. He has, but he doesn't know it. 
They tell me Alice is coming to-day. 

Mary. Yes, on the eleven-ten, but it hasn't been on 
time for a year. Now that John has got this fine job 
over at Westville he will probably ask her to-day. 

Mrs. Packard. No matter whether she comes from 
New York or not, she isn't any too swell for John. 

Mary. No, indeed. 

Mrs. Packard. I am sorry that he's leaving you 
with that uncle of yours. 



HIS CITY GIRL 9 



Mary. Now, Mrs. Packard 



Mrs. Packard. Oh, he knows what I think of him. 
I've told him enough. If it was only for him, I'd never 
set my foot inside the door. 

Mary. I owe him a duty, Mrs. Packard. He has 
always taken care of me. 

Mrs. Packard. You don't owe him to slave here 
fourteen hours a day without being paid a cent for it. 

Mary. I get my board and room, Mrs. Packard, 
and a little spending money. 

Mrs. Packard. Emphasize the " little," Mary. You 
ought to have a salary, and a good one, too, especially 
with John gone. 

Mary. It's going to be lonesome without John, no 
matter whom Uncle gets in his place. 

Mrs. Packard. Of course it will, my dear. Say 
what you will about men folks, we do miss 'em — all ex- 
cept that uncle of yours. But don't you go eating your 
heart out about John Plummer. If he can't see in the 
dark that you're miles and miles ahead of any other 
girl he can get, let him put up with whatever he 
chooses. 

Mary. Why, Mrs. Packard, Alice is a lovely girl, 
as pretty as a picture, clever, attractive, as sweet as she 
can be. 

Mrs. Packard. That may all be, but she's not 
Mary Thorpe. There^s only one Mary Thorpe that 
I've ever seen. 

Mary. You are too good. I don't deserve it. 

Mrs. Packard. Not a bit of it. Well, you know 
what I think about it. I must be getting home. Give 
me some lemon extract and a bar of Ivory soap, 
(Mary gets the articles for her and Mrs. Packard 
turns to exit, c. At the door.) Remember what I 
said, Mary. Don't eat your heart out because John 
Plummer doesn't show ordinary common sense. 

Mary {trying to smile). I won't. 

(Mrs. Packard exits, c. Mary turns to her desk and 
is unable to control herself. She weeps for a mo- 



10 HIS CITY GIRL 

ment, regains control, dries her eyes and turns to her 
work. After a moment John enters, c.) 

John. Here's my ticket, Mary. To see me any one 
would think I was going about a thousand miles, instead 
of just over into the next county. That's what a fellow 
gets for sticking around home all his life. Even this 
looks like a mighty big move to me. Now that we are 
all alone, Mary, for a minute anyway, I want to say a 
word or two. I may not get a better chance. I want 
to tell you that if you ever need a friend 

Mary {smiling). Or a brother? 

John. Yes, or a brother, I want you to call on me 
double quick. I hope you get along all right with your 
uncle. I hate to run away from you like this, leaving 
you here alone with him. 

Mary. Don't worry about me, John. Uncle Joshua 
will get some one to help. Of course, I'm going to 
miss you just like everything and I want you to miss 
me, too, but I'll get along, and I want to wish you 
every success and I hope, I hope 

John. Yes, Mary, what do you hope ? 

Mary. I hope it will be all right between you and 
Alice. 

John {confidently). Oh, I guess that will work out 
all right, Mary; you see I'm fixed now so that I can 
ask Alice, and I'm going to do it to-day if I get half a 
chance. No telling when I could come back from 
Westville. Mr. Jenkins will expect me to buckle 
down. I hope I suit him all right. 

Mary {proudly). You will make good, John. 
Why, they couldn't find a better man in the whole state. 

John. It doesn't take much brains to measure out 
flour and sugar, Mary. 

Mary. You'll get further than Westville, John, and 
I hope things turn out as you wish. I mean between 
you and Alice. 

John. Said like a dear little sister. I guess it will 
be all right, Mary. You know it's been kind of under- 
stood about Alice and me ever since we went to school 
together. I've never really had any ether girl. Of 



HIS CITY GIRL ^11 

course, I suppose she's had bushels of fellows after her 
in New York, a pretty, attractive girl like her couldn't 
help having, but from what she writes, she hasn't got 
so far away from me as you might think. She cer- 
tainly is a wonderful girl, and I guess I'll have to hop 
some to keep pace with her. 

Mary. You are good enough for any girl that ever 
lived, John Plummer. 

John. Flatterer! But anyway, I'll need a bit of 
brushing up in art, literature and the drama or our con- 
versation will be all on one side. We don't get much 
chance at drama here in Oakville — only church enter- 
tainments or the Odd Fellows' minstrel show. Alice'U 
make me about twice as smart a fellow in a year or two. 
You ought to read her last letter, Mary. It sure 
showed a lot of education. 

Mary. You are lucky, John, and I want you to 
know that you have my very best wishes. 

John (seising both her hands in his). You are a 
wonderful little chum, Mary. I'm going to miss you 
an awful lot. I never realized how much until the time 
comes to say good-bye. 

Mary. No, you won't, John. You are going to a 
life full of new interests. It is I that will really miss 
our companionship. 

John. The new interests will never take your place, 
Mary. 

(Mr. Thorpe enters, c.) 

Thorpe. There you are, loafing again. What is 
this, anyway, a store or a pink tea ? 

Mary. Why, Uncle. John is going to-morrow. 

Thorpe. And he'll go to-day if he doesn't perk up 
and 'tend to business. I can't pay an extra day's pay 
while he wastes his time talking nonsense. 

John. I guess I haven't worked extra hard to-day, 
Mr. Thorpe ; I'll make you a present of what little I've 
had time to do. 

Thorpe (still sullen). But you interfere with Mary, 
and customers don't get 'tended to. I want all cus- 



12 HIS CITY GIRL 

tomers waited on prompt. While Fm on the subject 
and before we settle up, old man Sawket tells me he 
has seen you eating apples several times when he came 
in here. I want you to estimate how many and pay me 
for them when we settle up. 

John {firmly). I refuse to do so. 

Mary. Uncle, don't be so small. 

T'H.o^'P^ {snarling) . Stop your interrupting. Small, 
is it, when he's stealing my apples? Eats one every 
time my back's turned, I'll bet. I guess he will pay for 
them. If he doesn't I'll see what Judge Swales has got 
to say about whether clerks can take all the apples they 
want or not. (John remains silent.) Young man, do 
you understand, I'm going to deduct for those apples ! 

John. No, you are not. 

Thorpe. I will, too. You have got to pay me for 
those apples. 

John. I told you that I refuse to do so. 

Thorpe. Any special reason why you won't pay for 
what you took? 

John. Yes, a very special reason. 

Thorpe. Well, out with it. 

John. I paid for them when I bought them. Do 
you suppose I'd take any of your apples without paying 
for them ? I wouldn't take a piece of string of yours. 

Thorpe {mollified) . It's all right as long as you 
paid for 'em. Why didn't you say so in the first place ? 

John. Seeing I donate what little work I do to-day, 
I think I'll finish packing up. I'll be back to relieve 
you at lunch. 

Mary. I have brought my lunch, John. 

John. Well, keep an eye on the apples. 

{He exits, c.) 

Thorpe. The impudent cub! We're well rid of 
him. 

Mary. Why, Uncle Joshua ! You know John is as 
good a clerk as there is in the state. The customers 
all like him. 

Thorpe. Sure they do. Customers always like a 



HIS CITY GIRL !I3 

thirteen to a dozen clerk, but that sort of clerk doesn't 
make any money for the boss. From now on we ain't 
going to be so liberal. Don't you get to thinking too 
much about him anyway. They tell me he's got an- 
other girl. 

Mary.; I wasn't thinking of him that way, Uncle 
Joshua. 

Thorpe. Yes, you was, too. All the women are al- 
ways thinking that way. I had a terrible time as a 
young man keeping away from 'em. 

Mary. Jimmy Oliver was in a little while ago. 
Uncle Joshua. He wanted to see you about taking 
John's place. 

Thorpe. He'd better save his shoe leather. No 
one's going to take John's place. 

Mary. Of course, no one can really do what John 
has been doing, but we'll surely have to have somebody. 

Thorpe (sarcastically). Yes, we'll have to have 
somebody! Who do you think is running this place, 
anyway ? I want you to understand I'm the boss here, 
and from now on I'll be boss. 

Mary (faltering). But surely, Uncle Joshua, you 
don't intend to get along without a man. 

Thorpe. Ain't I a man? I'm going to save the 
twelve dollars a week I threw away on John Plummer. 
You, too, wasting your time all day. You can just as 
well wait on trade as not and, besides, I'll be around. 

Mary. Yes, you will be around. Why, Uncle, you 
haven't waited on trade 

Thorpe. Why should I — and pay him for doing it ? 
Listen here. I've made my mind up. We aren't going 
to have another lazy, good-for-nothing for you to frit- 
ter away time with. Put that in your pipe and smoke 
it, young lady. 

Mary. Uncle Joshua, you have no right to speak to 
me like that. 

Thorpe. Right or not, I'm doing it. You're going 
to work from now on, young lady. If you had your 
way, I'd have a dozen men clerks, bowing and scrap- 
ing 



14 HIS CITY GIRL 

Mary. I won't listen to another word. 
(Mrs. Packard enters, c.) 

Mrs. Packard. Oh, Mary, I came back for some 
ohves, a ten-cent bottle, please. 

Thorpe {obsequiously). I can get them, Mrs. 
Packard. {He turns to search for them.) 

Mrs. Packard {sharply). Not for me, you can't, 
Joshua Thorpe. Mary waits on me, or I go over to 
Swanbeck's from now on. 

Thorpe {with a smirk). Just as you say, to be sure. 
Mary, my dear, get Mrs. Packard a ten-cent bottle of 
olives. (Mary does so, and Mrs. Packard exits, c.) 
You and that John Plummer have been setting cus- 
tomers against me. I want you to quit it from now on, 

Mary. I have never done so, Uncle Josua. You 
set people against you yourself. 

Thorpe. Don't be impertinent. (Mr. Barham 
enters, c.) What can I do for you, Mr. Barham? 

Barham. Waiting on trade yourself, be you? 

Thorpe. Seems like it. Pve spent enough for 
clerks, I guess. 

Barham. Well, I want to get four pounds of gran- 
ulated sugar for one thing. 

(Thorpe hunts vainly around for the sugar.) 

Thorpe. Mary, where did you hide that sugar? 

Mary. It's just where it's been for the last two 
years. Uncle Joshua, right in that barrel. 

Thorpe. When I put things any place, I don't want 
you moving 'em, do you hear ? 

{He weighs out the sugar.) 

Barham. Then I guess mebbe I could use some tar 
soap. Pretty good for shampoo, so they say. 

Thorpe {vainly hunting around) . We've got Queen 
Anne. 

Barham. I'm going to wash my head, not the 
dishes. Ask Mary if she's got it. 

Thorpe. Guess I ought to know my own stock. 



HIS CITY GIRL ilj 

Barham.^ Yes, I guess you ought to. 

Mary. We don't keep tar soap, Uncle. He can get 
it over to Milliken's. 

Thorpe (aside to Mary). Why, o' course, the 
plagy fool. (To Mr. Barham.) Tar soap's drugs. 
It ain't groceries. What else ? 

Barham. Guess that's about all I want to-day. 
Charge it. 

(^He exits, c.) 

(A little boy, Georgie Baker, enters, c.) 

Thorpe (to Mary). The trouble has been with us 
right along that we just sell people what they ask for. 
You can't make money that way. What we've got to 
do is to sell 'em a lot more. I bet I can just about 
double up on our sales by putting more ginger into 
selling stuff. Trouble with John, he never did have no 
ginger, an' that's what these folks over at Westville 
ain't found out yet. (He sees Georgie, with his bas- 
ket.) Something for you, son? 

Georgie. My mother sent me over for a yeast cake, 
a loaf of bread and two bars of Queen Anne soap. 

Thorpe. All right, my boy, and let me tell you that 
we've just received a lot o' extra fine er — er — er 

Mary (coming to the rescue). Prunes, Uncle? 

Thorpe. Certainly. Prunes. I couldn't think o* 
the word. Just as sweet as honey. Wouldn't you like 
a couple o' pounds, Georgie ? 

Georgie. Yes, sir. 

Thorpe (triumphantly). See how it is ; just as easy 
as falling off a greased pole. What else have we got 
special, Mary? 

Mary. Those canned beans are good. 

Thorpe. How about a can o' beans, son? Your 
folks likes beans, don't they? 

Georgie. Yes, sir. 

Thorpe. How many would you like ? 

Georgie. Whatever you say, sir. 

Thorpe. Guess one'll be all right for a starter. Is 
your pa a smoker, Georgie ? 



l6 HIS CITY GIRL 

Georgie. Yes, sir. But Ma doesn't let him smoke 
in the house. 

Thorpe. Well, you tell him that we've got some ex- 
tra good smokes just in, twelve cents, or two for a 
quarter. 

Mary. You mean thirteen cents, or two for a quar- 
ter. Uncle Joshua. 

Thorpe (angrily). I don't mean no such thing. 

Mary. Twelve cents for one. Twenty-four cents 
for two, Uncle. 

Thorpe. Look here ! There's the two cigars. How 
much for the two of 'em? 

Mary. Twenty-five cents. 

Thorpe. Well, one of 'em's twelve cents and one of 
'em's thirteen cents. Now which one of 'em's which? 

Mary. Why, it doesn't make any difference. 

Thorpe. Quite so. One of 'em's twelve cents and 
one thirteen cents. So it's twelve cents or two for a 
quarter, just as I said. 

Mary. But if a man only takes one, why not get the 
thirteen cents ? 

Thorpe. Aw, you make me tired. I've sold cigars 
off 'n' on for twenty years 'n' I never sold a man one 
yet. They've got to take two. Now, Georgie, here's 
your stuff, 'n' don't forget to tell your pa what I said 
about the cigars. 

(Georgie exits, c, with his basket.) 

(Mrs. Ransom enters, c.) 

Mrs. Ransom. I want a peck of potatoes. 

Thorpe. Just a moment. I'll get them for you. 

Mrs. Ransom. Get them! What for? I want 
you to send them up. 

Thorpe (with a blank look). Send them up? 

Mrs. Ransom. Of course. You don't suppose I'm 
going to carry them, do you ? (Looking at her paper.) 
And I want a bottle of catsup, a quart of maple syrup, 
a bag of flour and two dozen fresh eggs. There, have 
you got them all down ? 



HIS CITY GIRL iJ7 

Thorpe. I guess so. When do you want them, 
Mrs. Ransom? 

Mrs. Ransom. I want them right away. I need 
that flour this very minute. So get them right over 
and charge them. 

{She exits, c.) 

Thorpe. Well, now, how are we going to get all 
that stuff over to her place ? She lives at least a mile 
and a half from here. 

Mary. I guess you will have to hitch up the horse. 
Uncle Joshua, and drive over. There will be a lot of 
deliveries, you know, and now that you are to be the 
man around here, you will take care of them, I suppose. 

Thorpe. Don't be impertinent. I have seen girls 
drive wagons before now. But don't worry that I 
can't handle it. I've been up against tougher proposi- 
tions than this and I've never been floored yet. 

{Enter Georgie, c.) 

Georgie. My mother says you sent a whole lot of 
things she didn't order, Mr. Thorpe, and she made me 
bring them all back. 

{He deposits the prunes and beans on the counter,) 

Thorpe. I sold them to you, young man, not to 
your mother. 

Mary. Nonsense, Uncle Joshua. You will have to 
take them back. 

Thorpe. Well, if I have to, I have to, thaf s all, but 
when a thing's sold, it's sold, according to my way o' 
thinking. 

{Grudgingly he accepts the returned merchandise and 
turns to put it into stock. Georgie exits, c.) 

(Alice Winthrop enters, c. She looks about her 
somewhat haughtily.) 

Mary. Why, hello, Alice. I am awfully glad to 
see you. 



l8 HIS CITY GIRL 

Alice. I am glad to see you again too, Mary. You 
are looking real well and quite blooming. The country 
agrees with you, I see. I could never stand it myself. 
How do you do, Mr. Thorpe? Is Mr. Plummer here? 

Thorpe. If you mean young John Plummer, no, he 
ain't. 

Alice. Could you inform me if he is likely to re- 
turn soon? 

Thorpe. I don't know when he's coming back and 
I don't care a snap either. 

Mary. Why, Uncle 

Thorpe. I don't, anyway. 

Mary (to Alice). He will be here in just a mo- 
ment, I'm sure. Won't you wait? 

Alice. Not for more than a few minutes. I don't 
fancy waiting around grocery stores. 

Mary (respectfully). Of course not. 

Alice (disdainfully). What a junky little shop you 
have here ; everything in a heap. Now, in New York, 
the grocery shops are simply wonderful. 

Thorpe. Shops, did you say, Miss ? 

Alice. Certainly, shops. Don't you have shops 
here? 

Thorpe. Sure, blacksmith shops and machine 
shops. But I can 'preciate what you said about the 
place being junky. I'm going to change all that. From 
now on we keep things ship-shape. Now I'm going 
out, Mary, to take that stuff to Mrs. Ransom. Look 
lively and see that customers get 'tended to. 

(He exits, c.) 

Alice. What an old bear your uncle is, Mary. 

Mary. He doesn't mean anything by his gruff man- 
ner. 

Alice. Perhaps not. I couldn't tolerate it. I'm 
used to nothing but the greatest politeness. In New 
York the gentlemen are all very gallant. 

Mary. I'm sure they must be. 

Alice. A great many of them have been very at- 



HIS CITY GIRL I9 

tentive to me. One of them sent me roses every night 
for six weeks. 

Mary. For six weeks ? 

Alice. Yes, indeed; American beauties, too. Ten 
dollars a dozen at the very least. But finally I gave 
him up. 

Mary. I don't think it is right to be so extravagant. 
Think of the good that money could do for poor people. 

Alice (laughing) . You are so provincial, my dear, 
so very, very provincial. One cannot blame you, 
though. I was just the same when I lived in Oakville. 
You remember how I went in for the Odd Fellows' 
dance and everything like that. Come to New York 
for six months and I'll change you so your uncle won't 
know you. New York has done wonders for me. It's 
too bad that people have to live under such unfavorable 
conditions. One simply cannot develop. 

Mary (rather stiffly). I think we are as happy here 
in Oakville as people are in New York. 

Alice. Happy ! How can you be happy when you 
are so restricted? Besides, happiness is not all. I 
suppose a cow in the pasture is happy. That is not the 
idea, my dear. One should be cultured, acquainted 
with the world's great men in music, art, literature, 
sculpture. I just adore culture. 

Mary. Would you rather be cultured and miserable, 
or happy and not know so much ? 

Alice. Yes, if it were possible to be cultured and 
miserable. You see, a person who has culture is happy 
in its possession. Now, take yourself, my dear, what 
can you tell me about Beethoven ? 

Mary. He wrote a moonlight sonata, didn't he ? 

Alice. The obvious answer. I have made an espe- 
cial study of Beethoven, the man and his music. My 
paper on the subject won a great deal of praise from 
people who know what they are talking about. 

Mary. I'm afraid ordinary folks like we are here 
don't always get the time 

Alice. Time ! Time ! You have time for all the 
non-essentials, bread and meat and molasses, but for 



20 HIS CITY GIRL 

the really big things in life, you haven't time. You 
don't hear such talk in New York. 

Mary. The trouble is we have to earn our living. 

Alice. Unless one is cultured, I can't see that it is 
worth while to live. Come to New York some time 
and ril take all these narrow, restricted little Oakville 
ideas out of your head. You are good-looking, clever 
too, and New York will make something out of you. 

Mary. Thank you, but I'm afraid I'll have to stick 
to Oakville. 

Alice. And let that bear of an uncle of yours 
squeeze your ideas tighter than they are already. 

Mary. Ideas are a matter of brains, not of where 
you live, Alice. Here comes John now. I know he'll 
be glad to see you. 

(Mary unobtrusively exits, r. John enters, C.) 

John (in glad welcome), Alice! 

Alice. John ! 

John. I must have missed you at the station. I 
thought I saw everybody get off. 

Alice. Oh, we came over from Spencer in Uncle 
Percival's Pierce-Arrow. We had a glorious trip; 
reached here an hour ago, rather dusty. Of course, I 
wanted a nice hot bath 

John (laughing). And you couldn't get one in 
Oakville. 

Alice. It seems not, on such short notice. 

John (still laughing). You'll have to wait until 
Saturday night, I guess. 

Alice. It looks that way. I've decided to cut my 
stay here just as short as possible. I'm afraid it's go- 
ing to be frightfully dull after New York. Unless 
Oakville has changed more than I think it has. You 
haven't much culture here. 

John. Oakville's a pretty fair town, Alice, and the 
folks here are mostly pretty good people ; gossip a little 
and all that, but good people nevertheless. 

Alice (unconvinced). Maybe. That depends upon 



HIS CITY GIRL 21 

how you look at those things. I cannot tolerate uncul- 
tured people. They irritate me. 

John. I am afraid I am like the rest, Alice. 

Alice {horrified) . I hope not. I was just talking 
to Mary before you came. A nice little thing, but so 
very, very narrow. The larger world is utterly un- 
known to her. 

John. I am very fond of her, Alice. She has been 
like a sister to me. 

Alice. It does seem good to see you again, John. 
I don't see how you can be contented in this place, 
though. 

John {smiling). I am not so contented that I can't 
try for something better. That's why I'm leaving. 

Alice {delighted). Leaving? John! Isn't that 
wonderful? Tell me. You are going to New York? 

John. No, Westville. I have been offered a good 
position in the best store in town with a chance of get- 
ting an interest. 

Alice. Oh, dear, still the grocery business. I had 
hoped, John, that you would develop higher ambitions. 
I must say I am deeply disappointed. You and I have 
been such good friends, John. I had hoped you would 
go in for something more refined. 

John. I guess I'm cut out for this line. I'm leav- 
ing in the morning, Alice. I wanted to have a little 
talk with you before I go — something special. 

Alice. Take my advice, John. Don't go to West- 
ville. Strike out in something better worth while, 
something cultured. 

John. Maybe I will some time, Alice. I would like 
to if it'd please you and if I could do it. Just now, 
though, I've got to make good on my new job. As I 
was saying, if I come up to their expectations, they are 
going to make me a partner. 

Alice {biting her lip in disappointment) , Really, 
John, I hate to say it, but the grocery business doesn't 
interest me a little bit. Unless you can get some higher 
ambitions into your soul, I am afraid that I shall lose 
sill interest in you, too. 



22 HIS CITY GIRL 

John. But, Alice, dear, you know my ambitions 
have all been for you — always. I thought that was 
understood. 

Alice. Your ambitions will have to change their 
course, John, if you want to please me. I want to tell 
you about a little poet I met in New York. He writes 
divinely. Such music in his lines, such melody, such 
rhythm, such color, such feeling 

John (a little at sea). I never cared much about 
poetry, except Longfellow, " Evangeline " was 
good. 

Alice. Longfellow? Why, we don't consider 
Longfellow at all, not at all. Miss Finch says he is a 
mere rhymster. But Mr. Parnells! Oh! he reads 
with such expression. He dedicated a poem to me. 
" Lily of the Valley," he called it. A beautiful thing. 
I just wish you could meet him; then you'd understand 
what I mean by culture. 

John. But as I was saying, Alice, all of my ambi- 
tions have been for you. I was so glad when this offer 
came because I thought it would please you. Have 
you forgotten, Alice, what we have been to each other, 
what we said to one another the night you said good- 
bye? 

Alice. No, I haven't forgotten, John, I shall never 
forget. But think, think how immature I was then — 
how little I knew or understood the world. We have 
grown apart, John. I see that clearly. I can never go 
back to where you are, John, and your ambition doesn't 
lead you to where I desire. I am sorry. Oh, John, if 
you had only come to New York. 

John. But, Alice, dear, I love you. My every 
thought since those days in school has been with you 
in mind. 

Alice. I don't believe you really love me, John. 
You love what you think I am, or rather what you 
think I ought to be. Why, you are of another world. 
If you love me, come to New York; brush the rough 
corners off ; be somebody ; meet people that count ; get 
culture; write; compose music; paint; act; do some- 



HIS CITY GIRL 23 

thing fine and big. Why, John, I could never in the 
world come back to this. We should be miserable. 

John (sadly). I'm sorry, Ahce. My dream is 
shattered. But you are right. I can see that. We 
are of different worlds. We can't get across to each 
other. I'm plain every-day John Plummer and I'd 
rather wear a straight jacket than a dress suit. 

Alice. I think I'll probably go back to-morrow. I 
expected to stay a week, but it would seem like eternity. 
I'm glad to have seen you again, John. Good-bye. 
And if you ever do come to New York, be sure to come 
and see me. (Offers her hand.) 

John. Good-bye, Alice. 

{She exits, c.) 

(John seems serious and preoccupied for a moment. 
He walks over to the desk, straightens out a few 
papers and walks up and down in deep thought. 
Mrs. Packard enters, c.) 

Mrs. Packard. Well, John Plummer, what on 
earth's the matter with you? You look as glum as 
Ben Fancher's turkey the day before Thanksgiving. 

John. Not glum — just thinking. 

Mrs. Packard. And if I were you, I'd do a whole 
lot of thinking. 

John. A fellow ought to think. 

Mrs. Packard. Think first and act afterward, say 
I. Most folks do it the other way. Now take you. 
If you do any real high class thinking, you'll realize 
what every one else sees as plain as the nose on Mr. 
Leroksbury's face, and that extends pretty near to the 
next county. You'd realize that you and Mary 
Thorpe are just made for each other and you'd quit 
thinking any nonsense about a city girl that's almost 
forgotten you. 

John. I'm beginning to realize it. 

Mrs. Packard. Beginning! Gracious, beginning 
never made Columbus discover America. Get down 
to brass tacks. Mary would take my head off if she 



24 HIS CITY GIRL 

knew what I'm saying, but I'd like to see you two 
happy. ' 

John. I've always thought a lot of Mary. She has 
been a wonderful chum. 

Mrs. Packard. Of course she has, and she'd make 
a wonderful wife — you mark my words. 

John. I don't need to have you tell me, Mrs. Pack- 
ard. There isn't a finer girl in America than Mary 
Thorpe. 

Mrs. Packard. Well, I've said my say ; don't you 
stop with beginning to realize it, young man. 

John. Of course, Mary wouldn't think of me that 
way — ^now, would she, after what's happened? 

Mrs. Packard (at the door). Ask her, young man, 
not me, 

(Mrs. Packard exits, c.) 

John (calling after her at the door). Don't think 
you told me anything I didn't see myself, Mrs. Match- 
maker. (Mrs. Packard's laugh can be heard outside. 
After a moment, Mary enters r. unobtrusively and 
busies herself at the desk. John is thinking seriously. 
Coming to a sudden decision.) I can't say good-bye, 
Mary. I just can't do it, that's all, I've had my eyes 
opened. I have been hugging a little bit of romance 
to my heart all these years, thinking it was love. 

Mary {quietly). Then she said no, John? 

John. I didn't ask her. I couldn't ; we saw at once 
that we weren't meant for each other at all. It was 
just a childhood fancy. 

Mary. Oh, John, if she had never gone to New 
York ! The city has changed her so. 

John. I'm glad she went to New York. I'm glad 
she has changed. It makes me realize something that 
I ought to have seen long ago. 

Mary. What is that, John ? 

John {very seriously). That I love you, Mary. 
Listen — this is true, every word. Life seemed all a 
blank over there at Westville without you. I thought 
Alice would make up for it, but I can't talk comfort- 



HIS CITY GIRL 2$ 

ably to her for ten minutes. And to spend my whole 
life that way! I've realized right along that I loved 
you, Mary, but you see I've just trained myself so 
much to think that Alice and I were going to be mar- 
ried that I thought that you and I were more like 
chums or brother and sister. When I came to leave 
I saw how mistaken I was. I won't miss Alice a little 
bit, but I can't figure out how I could possibly get 
along minus Mary Thorpe. If I go out of that door 
alone, I go the most miserable man in the whole world. 

Mary (smiling skeptically). Oh, not in the whole 
world, John. The world's a large place. 

John. The whole world and Mars, too, if that's 
inhabited, as Mr. Potter insists it is. 

Mary. Who do you want to go with you, John ? 

John. You — and no one else. 

Mary. Look here, John Plummer, I am not will- 
ing to be any consolation prize or second choice or any- 
thing of that kind. Answer me truthfully — if either 
Alice or I were willing to — to — go out that door with 
you, are you very sure you wouldn't prefer Alice? 

John. Sure as can be, Mary. Why, I'd be a 
bachelor from now till kingdom come if I had to marry 
Alice or no one. Why, I just wouldn't dare. 

Mary. This all seems very sudden, John. I haven't 
thought of anything else but that you would marry 
Alice. 

John (earnestly). There isn't a thing sudden about 
it. I have always loved you. I think you have had a 
certain amount of affection for me. The only mis- 
take was in the brand, and a label doesn't make a bit of 
difference. Put a tomato label on that can of corn, it 
would still be corn. So my love has always been right 
there, though my affair with Alice fooled me so that 
I got the labels mixed up. 

Mary. A man ought not to be fickle. 

John. Try me from now on. I'll give you a 
written guarantee that I'm one hundred per cent. O. K. 
as far as non-fickleness goes. 

Mary. I've worked side by side with you, John, for 



26 HIS CITY GIRL 

quite a long time. Never have you said a word to 
lead me to expect this. 

John. How could I ? I considered myself engaged 
to Alice — thought I loved her, as far as that goes. 
Every man makes a mistake or two before the real 
thing comes. This is the real thing. 

Mary. John, are you sure ? 

John. Am I sure? I'd miss the sun if it didn't 
shine any more, wouldn't I? When I come to say 
good-bye, Mary, I realize how much I do love you. I 
just can't leave you, Mary. Come with me. 

Mary. Oh, John, if it were only true ! 

John. It is true, true as can be. Can't you rely on 
me, Mary? 

Mary. I can rely on you, but never again tell me 
that it's women who change their minds. (John looks 
carefully around and takes Mary in his arms, kissing 
her.) Aren't you proceeding a little fast, John? 

Joui>i (confidently). Why, it's all settled. We will 
be married to-night, Mary. 

Mary. To-night ? Why, John, I can't get ready. 

John (firmly). To-night. I am not going to leave 
you with that uncle of yours. It's a clean slate all 
round. We start our new life in Westville to-morrow. 

Mary (smiling). 1 think I'm making a bad start 
allowing you to boss me around this way. 

(Mr. Thorpe enters, c.) 

Thorpe. Hey, there, caught you again, didn't I? 
You'll have to perk up, young lady, beginning to-mor- 
row. 

Mary (with a sly look at John). I realize that bet- 
ter than you do, Uncle Joshua. 

Thorpe. I realize it well enough. From now on, 
we turn over a new leaf. You're going to do as I say. 

Mary (quietly). Not as you say, Uncle Joshua. 

Thorpe. I'd like to know why not. As your near- 
est relation, who'd you owe a duty to more'n me ? 

John. Why, I'd say to her husband, 



HIS CITY GIRL 2.J 

Thorpe (scornfully). Husband, hey? She hasn't 
got any such article. 

John. She will have soon, Mr. Thorpe. Mary is 
going over to Westville with me. We are going to get 
married to-night. 

Thorpe. Well, you plaguing imps. I might have 
'knowed you was up to something — always tittering, 
and here it was going on behind my back and me as 
blind as an old fool. Now, you two look here. I can 
manage the old store m'self, did it before either of you 
set foot inside of it. Anyways, I'm not the man to 
sniffle. Get along with you and get ready. I'll close 
the place up long enough to see you married — seeing 
there's no stopping you. 

(Mr. Barham enters, c.) 

Barham. I want a pound of oyster crackers. 
Thorpe. All right. 

(Begins to search frantically for the crackers.) 

(While Mary is speaking, Barham asks again for 
crackers, each time in a louder voice than before.) 

Mary (to John), One thing I want distinctly un- 
derstood, young man. I'm not marrying you to get 
away from here, but to go with you. And another 
thing (roguishly), 1 knew whom I loved all the time. 

(John puts his arm around her waist and they exit 
happily, c. Thorpe stops search and regards them 
spellbound. ) 

Thorpe (coming to). Crackers, 'd you say, Mr. 
Barham ? 

Barham. Four times I said crackers. 

(Thorpe dashes wildly around the store in the search, 
locating them as the curtain drops.) 



curtain 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

GRADUATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macauley. For six 
males and four females, with several minor parts. Time of 
playing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes; 
may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com* 
Siination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, 
etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercisea 
include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions^ 
and a comical speech by a country school trustee. 

EXAMINATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight male 
and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- 
cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
the teacher. Very easy and very effective. 

BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
Two scenes, both easy interiors. Can be played effectively with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in 
a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in 
Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 

THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special 
scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all 
easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 
pion, captures the convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
lesque modern politics and to work in local gags. Every 
part will make a hit. 

SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont, Eleven male and five female 
characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for 
specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
to almost any place or occasion. 

THE FENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

A SURPBISi: PARTY AT BRZNKLEY'S. An En- 
tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the 
author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently 
graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs, 
conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises 
the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. 

JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with 
supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the 
parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. 

THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comedjf Sketch in One 
Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, two females, or 
may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so 
that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
Simple street scene. Costvunes, modern. The superintendent 
of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men to run the 
machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous 
characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- 
ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. 

THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 

Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
and two females, or may be all male. Flays about one hour. 
Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
any number of good parts. 

THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
females and one male. The male part may be played by a 
female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or 
more. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery 
nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can 
easily be prepared in ©ne or two rehearsals. 

BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 
Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males 
and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- 
ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations 
which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire 
fun from start to finish. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHULADELPW'^ 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts. 
by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
suit each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act. by Frank 
DuMONT. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes^ 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior, A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter^ 
tainment, by Amelia San ford. For seven female char= 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position,** 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern<, 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend, 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. 

THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnisb 
an evening of rare enjoyment. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



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